


Hysteria When You're Near

by ab2fsycho



Series: If on a Winter's Night an AU [4]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, I'm Sorry, Lots of Sex, M/M, You Have Been Warned, and if you do you can still enjoy the fuck out of it, because sometimes i just need to write porn, i need to okay, i'm ignoring vital info and i'm not sorry, lots - Freeform, meaning if you don't know the spoilers you can read it, no i'm not, so this happened, stop judging me, this is Azran Legacy friendly, this was not supposed to happen by the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond Sycamore is an omega who goes into heat while aboard the Bostonius. He wasn't expecting to encounter an Alpha while on this trip, and he certainly didn't expect the Alpha to be one Hershel Layton.</p><p>Basically, this is me using some excuse to get these two to frickle frackle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hysteria When You're Near

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Another episode of "Alex was supposed to write that but she wrote this instead."
> 
> So what I'm saying is Erin tripped me up, I fell, and this is the result. My involvement in this entire fandom is a result of me tripping and falling and landing in a pile of feelings, angst, fluff, and sex. Alex, this is your life.

Something hit Desmond Sycamore as he got dressed for the day. He felt the ache long before the actual urges began. “No, not now,” he grumbled, pushing up his glasses to rub his eyes in annoyance. This was the absolute last thing he needed: to go into heat. He should have known it would happen during this trip, really. His cycles were completely unpredictable and tended to occur at the least convenient junctures in time.

Keeping his status as an omega secret was generally easy. Whenever he went into heat, he found some excuse to lock himself in a room where no one could bother him. His urges had never been that strong, even before the bond with his Alpha. He sighed at the thought of her, closing his eyes and dismissing the sadness that inevitably plagued him as he was reminded of his own loneliness. His urges were almost completely nonexistent now, but his temper had a tendency to flare if he got even the least bit frustrated. If his temper showed now, it might ruin everything he’d planned for the excavation of the Azran Sanctuary.

“Master, is everything alright?” Raymond asked through the closed door to Desmond’s room, making Professor Sycamore jump in surprise. Raymond was a very silent individual. It was amazing Desmond even noticed the man’s presence sometimes. 

Something occurred to Desmond then. “Raymond, who’s flying the Bostonius?”

“That would be Ms. Altava. I asked her to take the wheel momentarily so I could ensure your wellness.”

Desmond sighed. Of course Emmy was driving. It seemed she had wanted to fly the ship since she’d boarded it according the Raymond. “I’m . . . not feeling well at the moment. Please send my deepest regrets to the others, for I won’t be joining you today.” Raymond would have to handle captaining the Bostonius until Desmond’s cycle ended. If Emmy proved capable (well they hadn’t crashed in the time since Raymond had let her take the wheel after all), she could take Desmond’s shifts.

Raymond seemed to accept the excuse, although Desmond was certain his butler already knew what Professor Sycamore really meant. If he did, Raymond had the decency not to point it out. “Very well, Master. Do you need anything?”

“Not at the moment. Thank you.” Sitting back down on his bed, he hissed when the ache intensified. Ignoring the fact that he was almost fully clothed save for his shoes and jacket, he curled up on the mattress and held his knees to his chest. The urges began slowly, but he managed to disregard the half-hardness in his trousers. Placing his glasses on a side table and closing his eyes, he tried his damnedest to just fall back asleep and slumber through the cycle.



Layton fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, which were for some reason irritating him more than usual. As Raymond navigated the Bostonius, Layton and team had enjoyed the scenery. Luke had had a great deal of fun talking to Keats and Aurora while Raymond caved and started showing Emmy how to drive. Layton stood apart from the others, his head feeling fuzzy for some unknown reason. He didn’t think he was falling ill, but what else could explain the fever that was starting to catch his attention?

“Are you alright, Professor?” Emmy asked as she caught Layton rubbing his forehead with his handkerchief for the third time that morning.

“I certainly hope so,” he responded, because he was no longer entirely sure. An ache formed low in his torso that he couldn’t quite identify, and he was slowly starting to lose control of his breathing. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he glanced around to see if he was the only one who felt hot. Judging by everyone else’s calmness and lack of reaction to the temperature, he was. Even his scalp felt like it was on fire, but he wouldn’t dare remove his hat in the presence of others. It simply would not do. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked down and let out what he thought was a sigh.

“Professor?” Emmy asked nervously.

“Yes?”

“You’re growling,” she stated.

Layton felt his jaw locking as he felt his vocal chords vibrating without his consent. Covering his mouth with one hand while folding his other arm across his chest, sweat trickled from beneath the brim of his hat again. Once he thought he’d regained some semblance of control on his vocal output, he addressed his assistant. Emmy was still staring inquisitively at him. “I may need to excuse myself from this leg of the journey. Clearly I am ill.”

“I was gonna say you don’t look so good, Professor,” Emmy agreed. “In fact, you look terrible.”

“Your candidness is a comfort, Emmy,” he said. “But you’re right. I should retire.”

Raymond interjected then, “Rest may do you some good. Hopefully it’s just sleep deprivation that’s got you feeling out of sorts. We don’t want our Professor Layton too sick to help discover the secrets of the Azran, now.”

Layton nodded, thanking Raymond for the advice before turning away. Before he turned away completely though, he managed to catch Emmy narrowing her eyes at Raymond. Whether she was picking up on something the man said or simply waiting for more instruction on how to fly the Bostonius, Layton didn’t take the time to care or notice. He simply made his way to his room, pulling off his jacket as he secured the door. Dropping it at the foot of the bed, he unbuttoned his collar and laid his hat on a side table. Kicking off his shoes and socks, he lay flat on his stomach and promptly began racking his brain over how familiar these sensations were to him. He was certain he’d felt this sort of ‘illness’ before, but simply could not put his finger on what it was. The pressure he placed on himself to remember what this was made him start growling again, only this time he was aware of the noise erupting from his chest. He didn’t bother to stop.



Desmond was ready to pull his hair out. Why were his urges this painful? He was fairly certain they had never been this problematic before. The aching had definitely never kept him from falling back to sleep, and it had definitely never made him feel so on edge. Biting the bullet, he elected to fish through his drawers for pain medication. Putting on his glasses, he searched through both side tables and every cabinet in the room for the bottle of pills that had saved him the trouble of dealing with his cycles firsthand many times before. He found none. Grumbling to himself, all he wanted to do was sleep for twenty-four hours. That’s all he wanted. Was that too much to ask? Apparently, because his favorite knockout medication was missing. He would have to make his way to the dining area, and he wasn’t confident in his abilities to go unnoticed at the moment.

Another cramp nearly doubled him over. No, there was no way he was surviving this without his medicine. The feelings were too much to ignore this time. Untucking his shirt so that it covered the obvious bulge in his trousers, he felt a moment of embarrassment upon realizing how disheveled he looked. Then he decided he didn’t care. As he’d told Raymond, he was sick. Sick people had a right to look unkempt.

Slipping his shoes on without socks, he stepped out into the hallway. Moving cautiously, he headed towards his destination. As he advanced, he was proud of his ability to remain stealthy even though his insides were cramping so terribly. As he rounded the corner, however, he let loose an uncharacteristic gasp of shock. Once again, Raymond’s stealth had bested his own. “Dammit, Raymond!”

“My apologies, Master,” Raymond said, brushing off Desmond’s surprise almost habitually. Desmond withheld from threatening to put a bell around his butler’s neck, which he had threatened to do about as often as he’d shouted an expletive before following up with Raymond’s name. In light of his lack of threat, Raymond continued with, “I was on my way to ask if either you or Professor Layton needed any remedies for your afflictions.”

A cramp forced him to unleash a gasp, which he quickly concealed as a cough. Fighting the urge to collapse on the floor and hold his gut, he instead said, “I need my pain medication. Do you think you can find some for me? I have no idea where the bottle . . . did you say the professor is sick as well?” He couldn’t fathom for the life of him why that took higher precedence than the pain his urges were causing him.

“Quite. He had a high enough fever that he decided to turn in as well.”

The Bostonius lurched suddenly, sending both Raymond and Desmond into the opposite wall. Desmond didn’t even try to conceal his cry, the cramps and the landing collaborating to create one hell of a surge of agony. Gasping for breath, Desmond wrapped both arms around his middle as Raymond reached for his master to help him stand up straight again. As the Bostonius righted itself, Desmond snarled, “Go see if the Triton boy yelled at Emmy to dodge a bird or something!” Taking several deep breaths and trying to change his tone, he added, “And find my pills. I’ll go ask Layton if he needs anything.”

“Yes Master,” Raymond said, turning and making his way back to the control room. Even while moving hastily, his footsteps were still impossibly quiet.

Going back the other way, Desmond located Layton’s room and knocked. He could just make out a barely audible, “Come in,” before he opened the door and entered. Layton was lying face down on his bed with closed eyes, beads of sweat rolling from him temples. Layton appeared to have kicked all the blankets off the bed, the comforters and sheets lying in a mound on the floor. It struck Desmond that he couldn’t remember ever having seen Layton without his hat secured firmly atop his head before. Before he could speak, Layton said, “Please tell me that was turbulence and not Emmy’s driving.”

Despite the pain, Desmond found himself smirking at that. “I’m afraid it was your assistant’s driving.”

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“No need to apologize. She’s covering for me while I . . . while I rest.” Dropping the subject before Layton questioned him on his health, Desmond asked, “Do you need anything for your ailments? Raymond would have asked, but he wanted to ch—.”

“I’m fine,” Layton interrupted. Pointing at a cabinet across the room, he said, “Actually, can you hand me a bottle of water? That’s really all I need right now.”

“Dry throat?” Desmond asked as he moved to the cabinet.

“Afraid so,” he said, sitting up and pulling a pillow over his lap. Retrieving a water bottle from the cabinet, Desmond turned and barely made a step towards Layton before the professor stiffened and nearly shouted, “Don’t come any closer.”

Desmond froze, his eyes widening as he started to seriously take in Layton’s appearance. His breathing was about as unsteady as Desmond’s, his eyes just as wide, and his expression just as pained. Desmond’s eyes darted to the region of Layton’s body that he had covered with a pillow, and suddenly his own skin felt like it was going to melt off. The ache inside intensified, making him wince as he felt the bulge in his trousers begin to throb. Sweat poured down Layton’s face as he gulped, staring at . . . was he staring at Desmond’s neck? It felt like he was staring straight through him in some way and that should have disturbed him.

Flushed and finding it harder and harder to breathe in his presence, Desmond managed to ask, “You’re an Alpha?” 

When Layton nodded, Desmond felt a string of curses start running through his mind. The air between them felt charged, and Desmond had no idea what to do. Layton asked, “You’re the omega.”

It was a statement, but Desmond answered it with a breathy, “Uh huh,” like it was a question. It dawned on him the way Layton phrased it, like he’d known about Desmond for a significant amount of time. Everything in him screamed for him to move closer save for the one part of his brain vying for sanity. That one part was begging him to run as fast as he could and down the whole bottle of pills and pray he didn’t wake up. He tried to inhale and soothe his nerves, but that only invited in the scent permeating the air and . . . dear God, was that Layton? He wanted to inhale deeper, but managed to stop himself as he covered his nose and mouth with his free hand. Goddammit Desmond, you idiot, he thought. He should have run straight back to his room as soon as he’d heard Layton was ill as well. He should never have offered help, he should have never—.

A wave of pain made him cry out and drop the water bottle. Layton stood, courteous enough to keep the pillow in place as he reached out to help Desmond. Professor Sycamore wanted to back away, wanted to adhere to the part of him that was terrified, but that part of him was rendered silent the moment Layton touched his arm. His hand was hot, making Desmond’s skin sizzle. The scent invaded his lungs and he had absolutely no hope of ignoring it. What was worse, the cramps caused by his urges screamed to be soothed and there was only two ways he knew how to. One was a bottle of pain medicine and a long nap. The other was standing right in front of him in the form of the one person capable of helping him achieve his goals. Not only was this wrong on a professional level, it was wrong on a personal level. This could ruin everything for Desmond Sycamore about as easily as losing his temper in front of Layton.

He was shivering as he heard a noise coming from somewhere deep in Layton’s chest. Glancing up, Layton’s eyes were fixed on his throat again. And he was growling. Desmond could not for the life of him put into words how badly he wanted to run, or how badly he wanted to discover if that scent really was coming off Layton. He wanted to do both. God knew he wanted to do both.

It wasn’t Desmond who made the decision over what he was going to do, however. Layton’s growling stopped long enough for him to drop the pillow, grab Desmond’s other arm, and utter, “Forgive me.” Then Layton pulled him in for a crushing kiss and all of Desmond’s hopes of escape diminished. Desmond’s lips felt bruised upon contact, his nose overcome by Layton’s scent. His body moved against his will, pressing itself flush up against Layton’s. Layton’s hands left Desmond’s arms one by one, moving to cup his face and hold his pelvis to the other professor’s. The hand cupping his face reached around to become tangled in Desmond’s hair, Layton’s jaw working as his tongue forced its way into Professor Sycamore’s mouth. Desmond moaned, his insides twisting and his clothes growing more and more uncomfortable. His hands flew to Layton’s shoulders for support as the man pulled Desmond’s tie loose and fumbled with the buttons of Sycamore’s shirt. When he’d loosed three buttons after, Layton pulled the collar to the side and pulled Desmond’s hair. With his head forced back and the kiss broken, Layton’s mouth found a new target at the base of Desmond’s neck. As teeth scraped against Professor Sycamore’s skin, the omega keened and felt his knees buckle underneath him. Before he completely lost his balance, Layton had both arms wrapped around him and was lifting him off his feet. Desmond’s legs locked around Layton’s waist as Layton turned on his heel and pressed him into the mattress. Professor Layton growled against his throat and Desmond’s insides continued twisting as his groin thrust upwards into Layton’s.

“Clothes,” Desmond huffed as a wave of pain brought his throbbing member to attention, “too tight.” Without further prompting, Layton’s hands grabbed at Desmond’s belt and fought to get it loose. When he succeeded, he all but yanked the man’s trousers to his knees before turning to his own. Having the man just barely touch him and pull away so quickly made Desmond’s back arch as he whimpered from the pain. He could have cried when Layton finally freed his own member and lay across Desmond. His jaw fell open and all breath fled his body at the sensation. He struggled to inhale, his hands flying up to clutch at Layton’s back while the man growled and gasped in his ear. Thrusting their groins together in search of a satisfactory rhythm, Layton reached down and took both of them in his hand. Desmond’s eyes shot open as he buried his face against Layton’s shoulder to muffle his scream, knocking his glasses out of place. Professor Layton’s growls vibrated through to his chest and Desmond came with a force he hadn’t thought possible. The painful urges subsided then, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his whole body going limp in response to the first orgasm he’d had in he wasn’t quite sure how long. Layton stilled above him, having just experienced a similar release. The only thing that could possibly ruin his state of bliss was the realization that the pain would come surging back ten times worse in a matter of minutes. Yep. That was the mood killer. Rubbing his face with both hands, he muttered, “Oh no.”

Layton lifted himself up off Desmond almost as soon as he spoke. “I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry, I—.”

“Please stop apologizing. I just have to figure out what I’m to do now.” Because oddly enough, the fact that he’d just had sex with someone he’d established a professional relationship with was now the least of his concerns.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Desmond adjusted his glasses, “I have two options. Either convince you to continue doing what you just did for me,” Desmond tried very hard not to be distracted by the rumble that sprung forth from Layton’s chest and out his mouth (it seemed Layton was also trying to ignore the noise he’d just made), “or I can go get hopped up on pain meds that probably won’t dull the pain well enough for me to get any sleep.”

Layton looked like he’d been slapped. “I made it worse?”

“I’ve got a set amount of hours to go before my cycle ends, and this just . . .,” Desmond leaned his head back as best he could, readjusting his sights on Layton. With a furrowed brow, he asked, “Have you ever . . . encountered this sort of situation before?”

It was Layton’s turn to furrow his brow. “Yes?”

“So you’ve responded to an omega before?”

“Yes, but . . . we didn’t act on it.”

Great, Desmond thought. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Instead of letting loose the sarcastic quip that had manifested within him, he elected to say, “Nice job for a beginner.” Layton’s eyes narrowed as the man bared his teeth and released an even louder snarl. Okay, so his tone had apparently still come off as not so genuine. A stroke of fear returned to Desmond as soon as he noticed Layton’s hands gripping the remaining sheets on the mattress. “Layton?” he said, a tremor in his voice. The growling stopped, and Layton’s cheeks colored with embarrassment at his aggression. Opening his mouth to say something, Desmond cut him off by saying, “Don’t apologize. Just let me up and hand me a kerchief or something.”

Layton obeyed without question, both men cleaning themselves up swiftly before pulling up their trousers and doing them up again. Turning to one another, Layton asked, “What now?”

“I could ask you the same thing?” His hand went to his middle instinctively, knowing the ache and urges were due to return at any moment.

Layton looked down, his fingers flexing as he uttered, “I’m willing to . . . I’m willing if you are.”

Well wasn’t that just the gentleman’s response? Desmond covered his smile with his hand before nodding and blushing. Stepping towards the door before he said anything else to incur Layton’s aggression, he pointed and said, “I’ll be back with some . . . stuff. Just stay put.”

“The others—.”

“Raymond will keep them occupied.” Hand on the doorknob, he said, “Stay,” one more time before exiting. If there weren’t several items hidden in various regions of Desmond’s room (namely his wardrobe), Professor Sycamore might have actually invited Layton over instead of just going and fetching certain things.

Moving swiftly and silently to his quarters, no longer hindered by the pain that had racked him earlier, he took a deep breath and began searching his room for what he was looking for. Almost immediately he spotted the bottle of pain meds on the side table. Raymond must have left it there for him. Stepping to them and grabbing them up, he decided to bring them just in case. Digging through his drawers again, he found a bottle of lubricant that he also kept just in case. Oddly he didn’t have any condoms of sorts. Those didn’t rate high on his scale of items to have ‘just in case’ for some reason. He’d kick himself later, although he knew that if Raymond caught wind of this the man would lecture him into next week over protecting himself. He had a distinct feeling he was already going to receive a lecture from his butler on not getting involved with those he merely intended to use as a means to an end. Technically, this was a means to an end. It just wasn’t the end he had originally anticipated.

Staring at his shoes, he wondered if he should just kick them off or bring a change of clothes. The beginnings of the returning ache determined his answer. Removing his shoes, he pocketed the two bottles before deciding to undo and tug his belt off as well. Throwing his tie across the room, he glanced about in search of anything else that might prove useful. When the first wave of pain hit him without remorse, he fell to his knees and cursed. Crawling to the door, he used the knob to pull himself back onto his feet. Stumbling out the door, all he wanted was to get back to Layton’s room without having to endure another wave of agony.

As luck would have it, that simply wasn’t going to happen. “Professor Sycamore?” He jumped at Emmy’s greeting, stopping himself from shouting. Just how many individuals on this ship were capable of moving around without making so much as a noise? She at least looked remorseful over having startled him. “Very sorry. I just wanted to apologize for the turbulence earlier.”

“Quite alright, Ms. Altava,” he said, hand clutching his middle as he praised himself for having pocketed the two bottles. They would have appeared very suspicious indeed.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You can call me Emmy,” she said.

Trying to keep himself from sounding too annoyed, he said, “Ms. Altava is just fine.” A bulb went off in his head. Pulling the pill bottle from his trousers, he said, “Both Layton and I are ill. I’m taking him some medicine to help with the pain.” He struggled to keep a straight face as his own pain returned. Thankfully, it didn’t return full force or else he wouldn’t have been standing upright.

Emmy’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the bottle in Desmond’s hand. Placing her hands on her hips, she asked, “So you think the sickness might be catching?”

“I don’t—yes! Absolutely!” Desmond sincerely hoped it didn’t sound too obvious that he had leapt onto the excuse she’d so clearly given him.

Hoping that was the end of it, he turned and continued moving to Layton’s door. He was just about to enter when Emmy pointed out, “You’re hiding something, Professor.”

“What?” He glanced back at her, slightly terrified. To be honest, he was hiding several things at the moment. To what was she referring to exactly? She cleared her throat, clearly eyeing him below the waist. Looking down, his entire face heated and reddened as he realized he was fully erect again, the hardness creating an obvious tent. Were it not for the wave of agony that hit him and sent him careening against the door, he might have said something quite inappropriate to her. This was especially true given that she had a certain look in her eyes, one that he recognized almost immediately. All she had to do was purr and he wouldn’t have even had to ask. Wrapping his arms around his torso defensively, he uttered painfully, “Don’t tell me you’re one, too.” Emmy’s only response was the crossing of her arms across her chest.

At least, that was the only response he got before a large hand wrapped around his mouth and wrist, pulling him into Layton’s room without the slightest bit of warning.



Layton had put the hat back on just to feel like himself again. The sensation hadn’t lasted long, as he could already sense Sycamore’s heat through the walls. Had the man not asked him to remain here, he might have stormed out after him. The fever was returning, his trousers growing horrifically tight again as he tried to ignore how much his skin itched or how heavy his breathing was. He stopped pacing, electing to sit and cross his legs. This was incredibly uncomfortable. Everything was incredibly uncomfortable. He sincerely hoped Professor Sycamore truly forgave him, because he wasn’t quite sure he was going to forgive himself after what he was about to go through.

He heard a crash against his door, like someone had fallen against it. He stood immediately, his senses alight. The crash registered as a threat, not only to him but to the omega on the other side of the door. He heard voices, and his whole body stiffened. Even his limbs vibrated from the snarl that slipped through his teeth as he jerked the door open. His first move was to bring the hunched over Desmond Sycamore into the safety of his quarters. His second was to ward off the other Alpha he’d sensed outside.

He did not expect to come face to face with his assistant. Though he managed to stop growling, his breathing didn’t slow and his body didn’t budge. He stood posturing in the doorway, trying to control the aggression that had washed over him completely without his consent.

He didn’t get the opportunity to speak first. Emmy held up her hands and stated, “No worries. I’m bonded.” Somehow that did nothing to unclench his muscles. “I’m going to go distract the others. Can we agree never to mention this ever happening to them?”

“I believe that would be best,” he managed to respond without snarling again. After all, if he focused he could sense that she was telling the truth. Funny how none of this had seemed relevant till Sycamore had gone into heat. Otherwise, he might have never noticed Emmy’s dominance.

As his assistant started back to rejoin the others, he reentered his room to find the professor on the floor clutching at his gut. His pupils blown and his chest heaving, Layton could almost feel the omega’s pain. He’d heard heat cycles could be this harsh, but he’d never really witnessed one like this. His chest vibrated again from his snarls as he got down on all fours and crawled up Sycamore’s body, trading what few reservations he had in favor of sating his newfound lover’s needs. After all, that is what a gentleman would do.

Sycamore responded to his display of dominance very favorably, wrapping his arms and legs around him shamelessly and kissing him hard. Pressing the professor into the floor with his body, Layton was more concerned about the layers of clothing keeping him from feeling the rest of Sycamore’s skin. Fingers latching onto his shirt, he pulled it all the way apart and sent buttons scattering throughout. Sycamore didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he unlocked his arms long enough for Layton to remove the remnants of that shirt as well as his undershirt. Sliding the hat from his head, he also removed his shirt and Professor Sycamore’s glasses. He placed the glasses with his hat carefully, then proceeded to lift the man up so that he was sitting astride his lap. Sycamore keened as his erection brushed against Layton’s abdomen, and Professor Layton found himself nibbling paths over Professor Sycamore’s heaving chest. His hands venturing to the man’s still clothed thighs, Layton brushed up against something in Sycamore’s pocket. Reaching to pull it out, he discovered it was a bottle of lube. Layton’s growls turned into dark laughter, which made Sycamore shiver in response.

Keeping the bottle in his hand, he held Sycamore to him and lifted them both up off the ground. Making his way back to the bed, he placed them both on the mattress and set the lube on the side table before removing the professor’s trousers completely. He made no move to remove his own, instead leaning in to kiss the shaking Sycamore before reaching for the lubricant again. As he uncapped the bottle, Sycamore’s face paled. “Just so you know,” he uttered, sounding breathless from the combined forces of pain and anxiety, “I haven’t done . . . _that_ before.”

The thought was surely meant to express Professor Sycamore’s nervousness about what the lube was intended for, but it only succeeded in making Layton’s possessiveness reemerge. His growls made Sycamore look straight up into his face worriedly. As Layton spread a generous amount of the slick substance over his fingers, he leaned down to whisper in Sycamore’s ear, “I have no intentions of hurting you.” He smiled as some of the tension left the professor’s body while Layton’s hand ventured to Sycamore’s entrance. “That is, unless you want me to.” His own aggression startled him, but it seemed to make Sycamore relax further and strengthen his need. His only regret over the strengthening of Sycamore’s need was the increased aching the man was experiencing. Without further ado, Layton slid a slick finger into the professor. Sycamore’s back arched as he bit his fist to muffle his shout. Dipping his head down, Layton shoved aside the fist and seized the other professor’s mouth as he moved his digit in and out slowly. Sycamore was still vocalizing, which made it easier for Layton’s tongue to access the inside of his mouth. Sycamore keened and melted further into the sheets at the feeling, relaxing his muscles just enough to allow Layton to add a second finger. Sycamore’s eyes shot open, his fingers suddenly digging into Layton’s back as he sucked in a lungful full of air each millisecond it seemed. Layton started scissoring his fingers, feeling the muscles accepting his attempts to stretch and prepare them. Sycamore’s head fell back onto the pillows, and Layton couldn’t stop himself from burying his nose and lips against the man’s throat. Inhaling his heat and tasting his desperation, Layton savored every breath, every heartbeat, ever sound that escaped the man’s lips. He was throbbing, aching to get inside this man and even his patience was being tested. Sycamore cried out as Layton inserted a third digit, spreading his legs further apart in hopes of alleviating the discomfort he must be feeling. Whether or not it helped, Layton couldn’t tell. All he knew was that it made Sycamore’s body all the more inviting and he just wanted to _take him, claim him, ensure that he was Layton’s and Layton’s alone_.

Removing his hand, he reached for the lubricant again. This time, he undid his trousers and slicked his own length up. Once he’d coated his member, he spread the remaining slickness over Sycamore’s entrance before lining himself up with it. He watched Professor Sycamore’s face as he gradually pushed his way in, the man’s cheeks reddening as he brought his own forearm to his mouth and bit down to gag scream that made his whole body shake around Layton. Gathering the professor up in his arms, he kept himself as still as possible. Pulling his arm out of his way, Layton placed a tender kiss on Sycamore’s lips that the other man reciprocated gingerly. The whimpers Sycamore unleashed made some small part of Layton feel incredibly guilty. Then the professor started moving on his own, his hips rising and enticing Layton. Layton responded eagerly, starting with slow, long thrusts that brought the most immaculate series of moans past Sycamore’s lips. Wrapping a hand around Sycamore’s member, he picked up pace and matched his hand’s rhythm with that of his strokes. He felt himself drawing nearer and nearer to the edge of orgasm, but didn’t dare think of coming until Sycamore had. Angling his strokes, he felt himself hit Sycamore’s gland. The man gasped and arched his back, raking his nails over Layton’s back as his orgasm exploded between them. As Sycamore’s body strained before going limp just as before, Layton thrust until he found his own temporary release.

Layton spread out over Sycamore, distributing his weight evenly so as not to put pressure on the omega. The two struggled to catch their breath, Layton’s arms cradling Sycamore to him as one of the man’s hands tangled in Layton’s hair. It was Sycamore who spoke first. “I feared for the life of your assistant at one point.”

Layton let out another bit of dark laughter. “As did I, but we came to an accord.”

“Good. A murder would be hard to explain to her mate.”

“Ah, you heard the conversation.”

“Yes.” There was a pause as Layton’s thumb traced the line of Sycamore’s jaw. The professor sighed at the feeling. “That was the hardest part.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Sycamore’s gaze narrowed on Layton.

Professor Layton was unsure of how wide his grin was, but it must have been large enough to catch Sycamore off guard and again make him shiver around Layton, who was still inside him. “The hardest part is going to be maintaining a . . . variety of ways to keep you satisfied.”

Professor Sycamore shivered again, this time the quiver accompanied by a grin of his own. “I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll think of something.”



Many hours and several positions later, Layton and Desmond were exhausted. Layton had grown fully capable of predicting when Desmond’s next set of urges would begin, and it was really quite helpful. The pain he’d felt in the beginning was nearly nonexistent, the aching inside sated enough so that it became no more than a dull roar.

After a round where Desmond had actually ridden Layton, he slumped forward and rested on the other professor’s chest. Gasping and tired, he was slowly becoming aware of how sore he was beginning to feel. Dear God, was he even going to be able to walk tomorrow? Running a hand over Layton’s sweat-slicked, heated skin, he had to stop himself from smiling too much at the low humming resonating deep in Layton’s chest. As he purred, his arms enveloped Desmond and for a sliver of a second Desmond thought Layton might never let him go. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d protest anymore. Not after the sessions they’d just been through together.

And his body ached to think of the sessions to come. Glaring at the clock on Layton’s side table, he wished he didn’t need glasses to read. He wished he didn’t need to ask, but he really wanted to know the time. “Do you mind telling me what time it is?”

One of Layton’s arms left Sycamore’s shoulders so he could turn the clock enough to read it himself. “It’s 4:58.”

Desmond let out an agitated groan, the noise quickly transforming into the words, “Jesus Christ.”

“And you said your cycle lasts how long?” Layton said, his arm returning to its place on Desmond’s back.

“Twenty-four hours give or take,” he grumbled. “I’m going to die.”

“I’m not that bad,” Layton declared. At least he didn’t growl and bare his teeth this time. And people thought _Desmond_ had the ego.

“No, you’re that good.” Desmond didn’t know the words had slid past his lips until he heard Layton’s purring intensify before his hold on Desmond tightened. Desmond did chuckle at that. “I’m just tired.”

“To be honest, I am as well,” Layton admitted.

The professor beneath him made a noise then, and Desmond recognized the dry cough almost immediately. “You need water still. My word man, all this time and you haven’t even had a drink.”

“I’ve been a little preoccupied,” Layton said, his smile turning devilish. Did he realize he was capable of making such a facial expression? Before today, had anyone asked Desmond he would have declared that Layton only had three facial expressions. “You haven’t had a drink either. How are you not coughing?”

“I sort of tripped and fell and wound up in your bed. I’m sure you can understand.” Sitting up, he looked at the bottle of water that had been abandoned on the floor the moment Layton had practically pounced him (at least that was how he was going to refer to the start of this affair from here on out). It was only a few feet away. He could make it.

Sliding off of Layton and adjusting himself so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, Layton ran one of his feverish hands down his spine. “You don’t have to get up.”

“I want to.” That was a lie. He really didn’t want to, but the mention of their dehydration made that water bottle look way more appealing than it had previously.

But Desmond’s luck was utterly horrible. He remembered this as soon as he tried to stand and his knees buckled under his weight. Letting out an undignified shout, he landed hard on the floor. Well, the landing wasn’t entirely hard. “Desmond!” Layton cried, sitting bolt upright on the bed.

“I’m fine! Your pillow caught me,” he replied, gesturing to the object that had conveniently cushioned his fall. Reaching out, his fingers brushed against the water bottle. Fumbling with it a little longer, he got a good enough hold on it just before he chucked it at Layton. The professor caught it with ease. “Now drink the damn thing. Don’t let my clumsiness be in vain.”

Layton laughed, obeying as Desmond staggered to his feet. Leaning against the wall, he felt like his heart was about to come crashing through his ribcage. It had taken entirely too much energy just to stand, and he could feel the ache inside him rekindling.

The air fled his lungs when he felt Layton press himself against Desmond’s back. His knees threatened to buckle again, but Layton supported his weight easily. Wrapping his arms around Desmond’s waist, he handed the remnants of the bottle to him. “You take the rest.”

Desmond did so, dropping the bottle as soon as he emptied it. Wiping his mouth, he let out a low moan as Layton’s hands roamed his torso. “Sir, how are you able to stand right now? Tell me your secret.”

The breath from that familiar dark chuckle tickled Desmond’s ear, making him shiver against Layton’s chest despite how hot the man’s skin was compared to his own. “I saw the wall and wanted to shove you into it,” Layton whispered against his hair.

Desmond was already hard again, and those words were the cause. He could also feel Layton’s hardness against his hip. “My, Professor Layton,” Desmond huffed out as he watched one of the professor’s hands drift over one of his thighs. “One wonders what’s stopping you.” More like when did you get so smooth, Desmond thought to himself.

“Hm. You’ve a point.” The next thing Desmond knew, he was being pushed up against the wall as Layton lifted his leg. With his knee to his chest, Desmond’s hands flexed against the cool surface while Layton’s mouth burned paths along his neck and shoulders. Desmond gasped and felt his insides start to yearn for more. Before he had a moment to prepare what was inevitably to happen next, Layton was sliding into him. Desmond whimpered, not so much bothered by Layton’s size as how sore he felt. Layton growled in his ear and Desmond could feel it even against his back, and that made him shudder around Layton. The hand that wrapped around his cock made the sensation bearable, as did the hand that slid up his arm to capture his hand. As their fingers laced together, Layton set a slow and gentle pace that was almost relaxing compared to the fast and hard sessions he had put Desmond through before now. The speed or lack thereof was completely overwhelming and he was utterly unprepared for that. His hand tightened on Layton’s, each thrust bringing forth a series of whines from Desmond. When he found his release, he went limp just as before. Even though his exhaustion had rendered him almost completely incoherent, he found himself laughing as Layton scooped him up bridal style and carried him back to the bed. “What are you laughing at?”

Desmond thought Layton was going to drop him when he said in a mocking tone, “You’re such a gentleman.”

Instead Layton wound up giving him another of his evil grins and whispering, “Well maybe next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

Desmond’s face reddened, but he was honestly excited.



His heat cycle ended. He’d spent an entire day in bed with Desmond Sycamore. After the marathon was over, Layton and the professor had promptly fallen asleep. Once the fever that had been a response to Desmond’s heat dissipated, Layton had wrapped them both in the discarded comforter before completely passing out. When he awoke, he found Sycamore curled against him with his hand on Layton’s chest and a leg thrown over Layton’s groin. As the other man stirred, he found himself smiling down at him. Glancing at the clock, he discovered how late they had slept. He hoped Emmy, Luke, and Aurora were alright and not overly concerned about them.

Emmy. Layton shuddered to think how he’d acted in front of her. He was going to have to apologize for his behavior eventually, preferably without an audience. Thinking back on his behavior, he was really quite embarrassed with himself. He couldn’t remember ever having acted in such a way, not even when he was courting. For some reason, though, feeling Desmond against him made the embarrassment over his actions a little less painful.

As Desmond sucked in a breath of air and opened his eyes, he glanced up at Layton. He still looked exhausted, but not nearly as tired as he’d been after he’d gone out of heat. Once his cycle had ended Layton had begun to feel more like his normal self again, which of course meant he had several thoughts on how wrong the events of the past twenty-four hours should have felt to him. Yet he didn’t really feel guilty even though his brain said he should.

Desmond blinked at him, staving off a yawn before resting his chin on Layton’s chest. Staring tiredly at him, he uttered, “I could eat a damn horse.”

The mention of food made Layton’s own stomach grumble. With a smile, he said, “I know the feeling.”

“What do you say we get cleaned up and raid the fridges?”

“Do we have enough food in stock?”

“We should.”

“I can be ready in . . . twenty minutes.”

“See you then.” Desmond slid out of bed, moving to pick up his glasses first. Once they were on, Layton watched him slip back into his undershirt, pants, and trousers. Picking up his nearly shirt, he glanced around the room, picking out where each button had fallen. “Why bother?” he murmured. Layton chuckled, and Desmond’s cheeks flushed pink at the sound. Before Professor Sycamore touched the doorknob, he stopped. Layton could sense some trepidation in the other man while he sat up in bed. Then, turning on his heel, Sycamore’s stride lengthened as he moved back to him. Before Layton could comment on the strange familiarity brought on by witnessing Desmond’s movement, the other professor had grabbed his face and pulled him into a mind-numbing kiss. All other senses dulled as Desmond’s tongue took a turn invading his mouth, Layton’s hands gripping the omega’s waist and pulling him closer. When Sycamore finally broke the kiss, he whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Layton said. Before Desmond Sycamore escaped his reach again, he grabbed the man’s hand and placed a kiss on the palm. Desmond’s face turned red, but his smile was dazzling. Without warning, Layton’s own voice turned gravelly as he added, “I’d be happy to do it again sometime.”

Professor Sycamore’s let out a noise that sounded like he was struggling with a blown gasket. With a nervous laugh, he scratched the back of his head and asked, “Is this going to be a normal thing? You in your hat making suggestive comments that seem to totally contradict your character?”

Layton shrugged, his voice sounding normal again as his own cheeks reddened. “I actually don’t know.”

Giving him one last onceover, Desmond pulled his hand away and said in a soft voice, “We’ll see.”

Layton liked that answer.



No shower had ever felt so good in Desmond’s life. His body was still sore from the events of the day before. The pain primarily manifested in his thighs and backside, but he wasn’t about to complain. No, not after everything that had happened.

He opted not to think about what this could mean for the remainder of the trip. Things were due to change drastically once they had accomplished their goal, and after that happened . . . Desmond didn’t know what was in store for him. He would have to see. Pushing the thoughts aside, he stopped in front of the mirror as he buttoned up his shirt. Staring at his neck, he could see several marks Layton had left behind during their affair. Touching them, he actually found that he liked them. He almost didn’t have the heart to cover them up. Clearing his throat, he continued getting dressed.

Buttoning his jacket as he left the room, he discovered Raymond was waiting just outside to greet him. “Are you well-rested, Master?”

“Yes and no,” he answered honestly.

“But you are well enough to be up and about again?”

With a sigh of relief, he responded with certainty, “Yes. Thank you for taking control of things while I recovered.” Although the nature of the recovery had been anything but quiet and peaceful, which was technically the requirement for recovery.

“Very good, sir. I’ve set aside some food for you and the professor in the kitchen.”

Desmond let out a breath of gratitude. “Bless you, Raymond.”

“A word of advice?” Professor Sycamore straightened before nodding for his butler to continue. “You might want to put on some of your cologne.” Leaning in for only Desmond to hear, Raymond added, “Someone might notice Layton’s scent on you.” 

Desmond Sycamore wasn’t entirely sure the noise that had escaped his lips was human. What he did know was that his face was red, his hands were shaking, and he was using his glasses to mask the discomfort he felt over being covered with the smell of Layton. Meanwhile, Raymond just smirked, finding humor in Desmond’s mortification. If Desmond hadn’t wanted to find a dark corner to bury himself in before, he certainly did now. It then occurred to Desmond that if the scent hadn’t come off in the shower, then cologne would do little to cover it up.

After a few moments of despair, he let out a shaky sigh. Straightening up again, he adjusted his jacket and tie. Before moving past Raymond, he actually whispered, “Fuck it.”

Raymond burst out laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I'm ignoring that thing that happens in Azran.
> 
> Yes I'm still writing my other fics.
> 
> Yes I'm sorry that they're not done yet.
> 
> No I'm not sorry that this happened.
> 
> Don't stab me. I got shit to do.


End file.
